


Phonetics

by teamseshcline



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 06:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamseshcline/pseuds/teamseshcline
Summary: Lotor is a brilliant tactician; masking lies with truths, he is impossible to read. Or maybe Ezor just needs more English lessons.— — — alternatively: lotor teaches a young ezor the basics of reading.





	Phonetics

Ages zero to three are critical to the development of language — children babbling as they listen to their mother and father discuss the future in hushed tones; a universal process across the galaxy. From five to seven, reading and writing begin — small children sitting row by row, focused only on spelling out their own names.

“S-P-H-I-N-X O-F B-L-A-C-K Q-U-A-R-T-Z.”

“Now the second part.”

“J-U-D-G-E M-Y V-O-W.”

“Good — you’ve done it phonetically, can you put it together?”

“S-sp-h-inks...? Of black... Q-u-arts...? What’s a 'Sp-hinks' anyway?”

But Sphinx of Black Quartz is not Ezor Romana’s name — but rather Prince Lotor’s own pompousness at play.

So naturally, he ignores her question.

“Don’t give up, your continued survival hinges on this.”

Despite all odds, intelligent life interacts with the surrounding universe in a multitude of ways. Be it through the burning of fuels; running weary hands through an animal’s fur; or carving ancient prayers onto stone. Shaping the cold depths of space into a burning empire, the Galra are no exception.

And Ezor, not even half Galra, feels nowhere near intelligent right now.

“I can’t do it! I told you, _I just can’t_!”

“Try again,” Lotor commands, voice cool and disconnected.

Ezor slumps in her chair, arms dangling by her side. “I can't,” she whines.

Piercing blue eyes move towards Ezor’s drooping form. Though his expression is soft, eyebrows tilted upwards — something inside him cold. She doesn’t understand why, but she’s reminded of her fragile place in the universe.

“Fine,” she whines, “but can we choose an easier sentence? The letters get all jumbled with words like that.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll move on to sentence formation in a quintant, but let’s just go over some keywords,” Lotor replies, shuffling a pack of flash cards within his hands.

Ezor nods slowly.

“Now, ‘ _retreat_ ’.”

“R-E-T-R-E-E-T. Oh — R-E-T-R-E-A-T!”

“Good, ‘ _sentry_ ’.”

“S-E-N-T-R... Y...?”

“Correct, try ‘ _Acxa_ ’.”

Devilishly, Ezor grins.

“A-U-X-I-A.”

Lotor rolls his eyes, lips pressed into a small smile. “Close enough. What about ‘ _Run_ ’.”

“R-U-N.”

“ _Phoeb_.”

“P-H-E-E-B.”

Lotor’s smile falls, replaced with furrowed eyebrows. “Try again, Ezor.”

Frustrated, Ezor let’s out a groan. “What’s the point? I feel so dumb.” she confesses, “I can’t do quiznacking _anything_ right.”

Lotor frowns. An eternity of abuse has left Lotor uncomfortably familiar with the feeling of frustration, of missed opportunity, of feeling small. It is with this fact that he would secure his generals’ loyalty.

“Well, you’re alive, despite the odds.” he offers, a vague attempt at comfort.

But unlike him, Ezor is a brilliant flame. She is unashamedly herself; prodding and poking the universe, eyes burning with a playfulness unmatched by anyone else. Where Lotor is restraint and paranoia, Ezor is music and dance — a free spirit.

( _“Perhaps,”_ he would later wonder, _“the freedom of chaos is the key to survival,”_ before burying the very thought under a dignified persona.)

“So?” She cocks her head.

“Children don’t tend to last long without a caregiver.”

“I had a decent support network.” Ezor shrugs. “A group of thieves back on Bellataine — picked up some neat tricks from them.”

Lotor raises an eyebrow. “Yet none of them literacy.”

“ _Hey_!” she snaps, “You can’t eat if you’re busy reading.”

“You’re not wrong,” he agrees, a hand stroking his chin, “one must have their priorities right.”

“Precisely!” She perks up, voice lifted to a singsong. “I always made sure to prioritise survival, you know? And I’m good at it! You’ve seen me fight; hell, _I’m bored_! Let’s spar right now!”

“You’re trying to distract me from the matter at hand.” He points out, picking up a flashcard. “Back to your lesson, what does this spell?”

Ezor’s grin fades, but she squints at the flashcard nonetheless. “Qua... Quadrant?”

He nods, “Nicely done, that was a tricky one. And this?”

“Pod.”

“Keep going, Ezor.”

“Uh... seven?”

“Nicely done.”

“Elaborate...?”

“No, it’s ‘elucidate’. Remember, read the entire word. Skimming will do you no good,” he replies, claws idly tapping at his desk.

“What? No? You wrote the ‘a’ weird! What else was I supposed to think?”

“I’m using the standard lettering for Galra children; it’s as good as we’ll get.”

“Oh, so I’m a child now?” She puts her hands on her hips, though by all definition, Ezor legally is a child.

“That’s what not what I meant — ”

“Sure, whatever.” Clenching her fists, she rises from her seat, before flouncing away.

“Ezor,” Lotor calls out, before adding a gentle “please.”

Chain of command aside, the change in tone is enough to stop her in her tracks. But she doesn’t turn to face him, not yet. Instead, she just folds her arms.

“Come sit, we still have ten doboshes left.”

_Hold your tongue, Ezor_. “Wow, what is it with you people and schedules?” Regardless, she turns to face him — eyes cast down.

“Now, I know there is still a great disparity between us — ” (Ezor’s nose wrinkles.) “ — But I understand how you feel; truly, I do.”

She keeps quiet, but she is listening — even if it is evidenced only by the twitching of her tendril.

“I felt lost once too, Ezor; like the universe was stacked against me.”

“ _Like a halfbreed_.” It slips out momentarily, her voice a broken whisper. Arms still folded (though now it is as if she is hugging herself), she struggles to lift her head to meet Lotor’s eyes.

“A term familiar to you?”

Ezor nods.

“A shame. Your mixed genetics don’t make you ‘ _dumb_ ’ — nor does having a disadvantaged childhood. Trust me, if only on that.”

Lotor is venomous — an enigma of half-truths and untold plans. But Ezor, having only witnessed his mercy, has yet to discover such a fact. She’s silent, contemplative, before drawing a breath.

“Lotor, can I ask you something?”

Lotor raises an eyebrow, “Of course.”

“What was it like? Growing up with Zarkon and all?”

Though her question was born out of concern, her hesitancy suggests that she knows it’s a sensitive topic. Acxa had made sure to inform Ezor of the taboo nature of such a question. But a lifetime of poverty has left her thirsting for knowledge, and she has yet to learn the art of self-restraint. Besides, Acxa isn’t here, leaving Ezor free to interrogate her new employer.

“It was exactly as one would expect.”

“Uhm.” She doesn’t actually know what to expect. “How come?”  
  
“It was...” he struggles to find a suitable descriptor — he isn’t ready to open up to her. “... _long_. Can you imagine being at the whims of Emperor Zarkon for over a millennia?”

Ezor shivers, Lotor’s quintessence born immortality still a foreign concept to her. But she doesn’t have to remind herself that Lotor — and even the damn cat — are as old as civilisation itself, witnessing entire worlds rise and fall. But Ezor? Ezor has only counted a lifetime of sixteen decaphoebs; her existence is no more than a blip on history’s radar.

“No, I can’t.”

Christ, no wonder she feels like a child.

“I thought as such.” Lotor frowns.

Even so, Ezor is far from satisfied. “But what about Haggar? Or - or Sendak? Surely they —”

“ — Back to business, Ezor.”

“ _But — !_ ”

“My style of teaching does not work for you, yes?”

She wants to protest; to demand answers to her question — but Lotor is growing impatient. As such, she tilts her head. “Um, no, it doesn’t.”

“Well then, I may have a proposition for you.”

“Go on,” Ezor replies, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Well,” Lotor smirks, “I have some fiction you may be interested in. It’s set during the days of Ancient Jarre — a story of a young peasant looking to uncover his sister’s murder.”

“Well, does he?” She asks, momentarily distracted.

“It’s an old story, so of course.”

“So the murderer gets caught?” She raises her eyebrows. “That’s dumb! I’d never be caught red-handed like that!”

“Well, you do have an unfair advantage.” He says.

“So? The murderer should have been more careful! We have technology for a reason!”

Lotor rolls his eyes. “Would you like to read it or not?”

“I can’t read, Lotor.” Her voice is flat, but the hand on her hips suggests a hint of sass.

“I know — I’m suggesting we read it together,” Lotor replies, appearing completely nonchalant.

Ezor bites her lip, mulling over the possibility. It’s an offer of friendship, an additional attempt at building trust between the two of them. She sighs. “Fine, but don’t tell Acxa about this. She thinks this is just a language barrier kinda thing.”

“If you wish,” he replies, finally standing up. “You’ll be here at nine hundred hours sharp for tomorrow’s lesson — _you know what I expect of you_.”

Ezor nods, “thanks sir, understood.”

——— It is only years later, when Prince Lotor’s uninhibited madness would leave her stranded and mourning — that she’d realise that _no, she didn’t know what he expected_.

**Author's Note:**

> A headcanon that's been floating around my head for a while is that Ezor had never had any formal education — so the vast majority of her knowledge outside of combat comes from Team Sincline, including literacy.
> 
> Massive thanks to captain-vulture.tumblr.com for acting as a beta reader! And credit to kakunamatatq.tumblr.com for some of the ideas in this fic!


End file.
